The Best of Fools (Jane Austen Book 2) (40 page)

If only, right?

Four weeks from my trip to England and it felt like five years. Three entire days passed without Alistair and I connecting on the phone or video and our messages were rare too. I missed him. He missed me. It didn't feel good. At all. So I rushed home Friday night to talk to him, but by the time I closed the store and got home he was asleep. I tried calling him with Skype, hoping maybe he'd answer the call in his sleep and I'd get to listen to him breathe, but he didn't.

So I sent a quick message saying I was sorry and maybe we could talk tomorrow during the day. Saturday. Brooke and Han would both be at 1812 and I could probably sneak away to talk whenever he could.

It took my forever to fall asleep that night and when I did my dreams were pure nightmares. I mean, the hellish of all hellish nightmares. There was a fire and Alistair was stuck in the house. I tried to go in and save him, but ended up flying out of a window and crashing to the ground. When I woke up from the dream with my entire body shaking, I eventually went back to sleep only to dream that he died in the fire and when they found his body he was naked with another girl.

So, yeah ... I woke up wanting to stay awake and never sleep again.

He didn't message me in the morning and I hated that it affected me so much. A few months ago I was tough Jane. Resilient-ish. Able to
not
fall in love and get my heart broken. Now I worried, maybe unrealistically, but I couldn't help it. My boyfriend lived in another freaking country and our conversations were getting more and more infrequent. When we did sneak in a conversation it was often so quick and rushed ... so not romantic. We should've been together. Passionately intertwined with each other. Waking up to a warm body on the bed beside us.

My fears were coming to life and it made me become a person I didn't want to be. I was losing focus at work, tripping up the steps, stopping at streets that didn't have stop signs, eating way too much sugar, and going to bed much earlier than normal.

Then he called.

I rushed across my room and picked up the call.

"Jane," he said. "I'm eating lunch. A short break from work here. I miss you."

"Hey." It was only the beginning of the call, but I was already dreading the end.

"Why so serious?"

"You know why." I sighed. "This is horrible. It's only been a few weeks and things feel all weird."

"I'll be there soon. Christmas is right around the corner. Hold on for me, okay? We can make it."

"I can't do this, Alistair."

He breathed into the phone, but didn't speak.

"I need to see you or feel you or at the very least hear you. This is killing me."

"It's killing me too, Jane." I could barely hear him.

"I think your phone is breaking up or something. Maybe it's Skype?"

"Jane?"

"Hey. Are you there?" I said.

Crackling, buzzing, and ... "Jane? Can you hear me?"

"I'm here. Can you hear me?"

Static, his voice, more static.

"I can't hear you."

Silence.

I threw my phone on my bed and stared at it. Then picked it up and checked to see if he messaged me. Not yet. I tossed it back to the pillow and took a shower, hoping the water would wash away the pain in my chest.

Later that night I stopped by my parent's house. The front door was unlocked, so I went right in and found Mom at the kitchen table with a friend.

"Jane." She jumped up, screeching her chair in the process. "I didn't expect you, honey."

"It's fine. I wanted to stop by and see Eddie, check on you and Dad. Nothing major. No need to bake or make tea."

"Jane?" her friend said, holding her cheeks in her hands. "Jane...."

I looked at Mom, then back to the creepy lady. "Yes?"

Mom came beside me and took my hand, sandwiching it between both of hers. "This is Julia. I didn't know you'd be here, but she planned to see you before she left."

I blinked at the woman and found my eyes naturally gazing down her chest to her stomach. My original home. Images flashed. Nightmares of my conception, of her pain, of my birth.

She didn't stand. She just sat there and she couldn't even look at me. Yes, he raped her. I wasn't making light of her painful experience at all, but she carried me inside of her, felt my feet in her ribs, and watched me take my first breath.

"How could you let me go?" I said. "How could you just leave me like that?"

"Jane." Mom touched my shoulder.

"I wanted better for you than I could give," the stranger said as she stared at her knees.

"But I'm your daughter. I know it's a messed up situation. Mom told me everything." That was awkward. "But still ... didn't you at least want to be in my life?"

"It's ... you don't ..." She looked to Mom, then finally made eye contact with me. "I just—"

"It's okay," Mom said, but it was too late. She was already running for the door. Mom almost went after her, but stayed with me instead.

"It's painful for her, Jane," Mom said. "You shouldn't have said that."

"Mom. Seriously? I was being honest. That's how I feel. I want to know."

"Just imagine being in her shoes. She was severely abused by her father. Her own flesh and blood, only to be raped and left in the basement to bleed on the floor until I came and called the cops. Imagine when she found out that she was pregnant. She wanted an abortion, Jane. She begged me to tell her it was okay to abort you, but I told her I'd take care of the baby and she could worry about herself. Try to get back on her feet. I knew if she aborted you that she would feel even worse. But just think what it might feel like to stare at the child that was conceived when you lost your virginity to your father in a cold, dark basement." She stopped to hug me and stayed there with her head against mine. "I know it's hard for you, sweetie, but you need to see things from her perspective too."

I held on to her and tried to process it all. Abort me? I didn't want to be selfish. I wanted to think of the poor woman who conceived me like that. But abort me? The words refused to leave my mind. I did my best to pretend like it was all okay. I told Mom I'd write a letter and apologize. But the entire time we played Pictionary, my mind was somewhere else.

Alistair sent me a message at 9:02pm asking if I was going to call because he was getting tired. I told him I'd call in a half hour and asked him to please stay awake, peel back his eyelids, whatever it took, I needed him. Yes. For once, I admit, I
needed
him.

I said goodbye to everyone as fast as possible, jogged to my car, and called him.

No answer.

I sent a text.
Hey, are you there? Please be there. It's only 9:24. Alistair? Please be awake.

I called during my drive home. Over and over again. I called when I got home. Over and over again. I called in bed. Over. And over. And over. Again. I called fifty six times before midnight. Then I gave up, turned my face into my pillow, and used every ounce of willpower within me to keep myself from crying.

I woke up at 3am from another horrible dream. I tried to call Alistair, hoping maybe he was awake and would finally answer. After calling three times, I hung up and called Donovan.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Jazzy," he mumbled half asleep. "You okay?"

"No." I pressed my lips together and breathed deep through my nose.

"Jazz. What's wrong?"

I started to explain, but my mind couldn't catch up with my heart and I couldn't find the words.

"What happened? Tell me you're okay." He sounded wide awake now. "Should I come over?"

"No," I said quickly. "No, that's not fair to Han and Alistair."

"What's wrong? Talk to me."

"Why does it feel like whenever something goes well for me it all starts to fall apart? I can't hold on to happiness, Don. It doesn't like me."

"Happiness is overrated anyway. Did something happen?"

"Well, my biological mother was at my parent's house tonight aaand that was interesting and Alistair and I..." My lip quivered.

"Did you break up?"

"No. No we're still together, but it's only been like a month since I got back and it's been so hard to talk. We keep missing each other and I feel like he just doesn't make an effort and I don't know, Don ... what if he realizes this isn't worth it and..."

"And what? You get your heart broken?"

I nodded as though he could see me.

"Remember what I said? A broken heart is proof that the heart worked to begin with. I doubt Alistair would do that. He adores you just like any guy would if they had you. It's long distance, Jazz. That comes with the territory. You just need to work through it like anything else. Just be honest with him."

"I will if I can ever talk to him again."

"Leave it to you to be optimistic."

"Mmmhmm." I felt a little better. "Thank you for picking up the phone."

"Always."

"I wish Alistair would wake up when the phone rings. The guy has an alarm on his phone and a digital clock next to his bed and still oversleeps sometimes."

"But he doesn't snore."

"No." I laughed. "Not that."

"Try to get some rest, okay? Close your eyes and put the phone on speaker. I won't hang up until you're asleep."

"Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this."

About that oversleeping thing.

I woke up ten minutes after 1812 was supposed to open and had three missed calls from Brooke. I called her back and told her I'd be there soon, then got ready without taking a shower.

On the way to the shop I called Alistair.

"Jane," he said.

"Alistair. It's so good to finally hear your voice again."

"I tried to bloody stay awake. I feel rubbish. I'm so sorry."

"How are you? How's work?"

"Everything is all right. Hey, I tried to call you back earlier. It was around 4am your time and your phone gave a weird beep like you were talking to someone else."

"Oh, it was Don."

"You called Don?"

I parked in back of the store and turned the car off. "I called him, yeah. I needed someone to talk to."

He didn't say anything. Something slammed.

"Are you upset at me?"

"No."

"Yes you are."

"I'm driving. I'll call you back when I'm off the road."

"Oh." I hoped maybe he'd pull over and finish our talk. "Okay."

"Okay then."

We hung up and I leaned back in the driver's seat wondering what the hell just happened. What was happening to us?

I sent him a message.
Alistair, I hope you're not mad. You know Don is just a friend. I was upset about my birth mother and not talking to you as much.

A minute went by, then he responded with,
He's not just a friend. There was a time when you chose him over me. Looks like you did again.

Me:
I didn't choose him over you. You didn't pick up.

Him:
Then why didn't you pick up when I called?

Me:
I was sleeping. He just let the phone stay on while I fell asleep because he knew it would comfort me.

Him:
Some other bloke comforting you. I see.

Me:
He's not some other bloke. You know how I feel about him. Don't do this. Please.

Five minutes later he still hadn't responded. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and tried to stop them from shaking, then sent another message.

Alistair. Please. I love you.

No answer.

I went into the store, dazed, nauseous, dizzy. Brooke and Han helped me sit down in the back and said they'd take care of things. Brooke told me to rest, but how could I?

How could I possibly rest until he told me everything was okay? We were still worth the fight. I considered hopping on a plane and showing up on his doorstep, but I couldn't leave. And I didn't have any money anyway.

Han touched my shoulder. "Jane, someone here to see you."

"I can't right now."

Brooke tapped on the doorframe. "You may want to come out."

I forced myself to my feet. One step at a time. A woman in a business suit stood at the front of the store. Why, for a second, did I think I was in a Nicholas Sparks film and Alistair would be the one standing at the door, holding a bouquet of black and yellow flowers? Why the
hell
did I think, for one freaking second, that maybe, just maybe, I could wrap my arms around him and make it go away?